A Temporal Trust (The Temporal Book 2) (15 page)

“Only twice. I said very little of importance. But she knows how many Temporal are here. There is one more thing.”

Hikari shot looks in every direction as if suspicious that they weren’t alone.

“Shee has a factory.”

“A factory?”

“Yesss.”

Suteko looked at Sam. She could see patience running out of his eyes. She said, “What kind of factory?”

“Nephloc factory...Many new brothers. A training camp.
Horribilis et terribilis est
. We must stop it, stop her.”

“Hikari, what goes on in this factory?”

He shuddered and lowered his head, refusing to speak.

Suteko placed her hand back on his shoulder. He felt the warmth flow through. For a moment, he felt he could tell her anything, do anything for her. As he began to lift his head, he remembered the other her, the High Lady, and returned to his solitary huddle.

“Dear Hikari, do not be afraid. The evil that wants to hurt you—wants to hurt us all—cannot touch your soul if you do not let it. Tell us about this factory and how we can stop it.” She gracefully sat directly in front of the black shuddering mass and added, “Please.”

The creature, sitting, crossed its legs and said, “Perazim.”

It had been chosen.

Two red-robed Perazim entered the sleeping quarters of Delta Enclave. Out of the three hundred Nephloc within its halls, it had been chosen.

Once the Red Ones entered, all fell silent. It was not out of respect or due to any law or custom. It was simple fear. Even as the chosen one was taken, all remained silent. This was also not out of compassion for the one leaving, but fear that the Red Ones may return and choose another.

The chosen had already been carried six wards and was entering the seventh before hazarding the simple question. “Is it the ceremony?”

There was no response and it would have been very surprised had it received one. Other than the death grip on the chosen one’s wrist, the Perazim moved as if the creature they were escorting didn’t even exist.

The Nephloc knew it had to be the ceremony. It would have already been dead had it been anything else. It did not resist—in fact it welcomed the chance to prove its worth—but neither did it give any aid to the red-robed Perazim guards leading it. Its slow steps seemed to aggravate the Perazim’s tight grips. Lesser Nephloc would have cowered in fear. It felt no fear. It had been a prideful man; that trait had served him well in its past life and it was by the power of that virtue one foot continued to move ahead of the other.

All Perazim had once been Nephloc, Nephloc that had survived the crucible of the ceremony. The initiation process was painful, but like childbirth or the kind of death that ushers in a new life within a cocoon, the result was beautiful.

It was being taken to be tried, and if it survived, it would become one of them. If it survived, it would gain a name. It would have the honor of wearing the first year white robe.

As the last portions of flesh rotted off, all Nephloc were judged. Some such as this one were chosen for other reasons. This Nephloc was young and still had much flesh left on its bones.

A panel of decorated Perazim decided the fate of the initiate. Their unspoken judgment decided how the scale at the top of the steps would tilt. Very few make it even to the steps.

Without warning, one of the Red Ones carelessly grabbed it by the neck and hurled it in a double set of wooden doors. Its head caused the doors to slightly bulge but not actually open. The other side, it knew, awaited its judgment. The guards positioned themselves in a way to prevent any possible escape. The Nephloc picked itself up as the doors opened of their own accord.

The Nephloc smiled; it had been the door hammer announcing its own presence.

“Walk, slave.”

As the chosen Nephloc entered the Hall of Perazim, it was greeted by a barrage of jeers. It shielded its eyes from the spittle and various objects hurled in its direction. It would have to endure a hundred paces of curses before reaching the steps which led to the ultimate test. The sound of twenty-eight Perazim shouting within the small enclosure was impressive. It was intended to be overwhelming; it was the first test and the one in which most failed.

Each step forward was one step closer to its transformation. A step backward or lingering too long in place would result in death by the closest Perazim. It would be a sanctioned death—something Perazim relished as a duty of the highest honor.

While the Perazim were otherwise not allowed to directly harm the initiate, they were encouraged to hinder it. This too was part of the judgment. The twenty-eight Perazim lined up fourteen to each side, creating a two-foot walkway between the flanks. The fire had been lit over a year before but, despite daily ceremonies, the ranks of Perazim were still fewer than forty, most initiates failing well before this point.

Each Perazim wore ceremonial armor, draped with a black robe. Their arms were up, touching the fists of the Perazim across the row. The Red Ones stood at the door, waiting with swords in hand hoping the initiate would attempt to escape.

The Nephloc took a step forward in the space provided by the two columns of Perazim. As it approached, the dark guards dropped their arms to shoot straight out into the aisle in front of the chosen. The action would seem to be a salute of honor, but this was yet another obstacle that the Nephloc must overcome.

As the initiate clawed its way forward and passed a Perazim, that Perazim fell silent. This was the only portion of the ceremony that could be called encouragement; the deafening sounds of curses become less powerful as the target moved closer. All Perazim behind became silent. Only the ones in front of it still shouted. Every bone in its body wanted to turn and run, run toward the quiet death behind it. But miraculously, its legs kept moving forward.

Minutes later, it reached the steps that led up to that tall altar. Its eyes were halfway covered by the hood, but as it lifted its gaze up, it saw that it still had to climb a flight of stairs several times its height. Its only consolation now was there were no curses; it had passed the last Perazim and all shouting had ceased.

Once it quieted the inner disturbances, the outside room became a morgue—silent, cold, and filled with death. Many brothers had died in this very room.
Many.
There were no more curses; no more shouts, but it no longer saw that as real encouragement—it was a lonely and total silence. The slap of its feet against each cold stone step startled it and caused it to let loose an out-of-sync breath. That also startled it, but the breath reminded it that it was still alive. And yet, this thought brought a dry sneer. In mere moments, its life would be forfeit. It would either die in failure or die and become Perazim!

Another two steps and it could see just beyond the altar. She, the High Lady, was standing there. It had been expecting her. Her eyes were down, staring and drilling into the Nephloc’s eyes. The Nephloc quickly averted its glance and dropped his focus back to the steps before it.

It had never witnessed the ceremony nor did it know any protocol—no Nephloc that participated returned to instruct others. But it knew the next few moments would not be pleasant. The High Lady’s presence always precipitated a painful experience.

A few steps more and it looked up again. She was wearing the White Robe, the sacrificial robe. It was still called the White Robe even though little of the original white remained. Splatter from countless sacrifices were left to remind all of past ceremonies.

Its foot faltered, the bones of its right hand caught a side railing. It resisted the urge to turn around and fly. One step backward and any one of the dark guards would have permission—would have the duty—to kill the failed candidate. It heard the metallic clinging of armor behind; it knew it was loitering too long and one of the Perazim was preparing to strike.

Another step up toward the alter.

It no longer dared to look up, only sneaking stolen glances upon her majestic face. It thought it saw a smile creep over the High Lady’s face. A second glance revealed only her stern, flat lips.

It took the last step and reached the platform before the altar. The High Lady’s hands rose, stopping his advancement. As she spoke, the Nephloc lowered its head.

“Perazim! Is this Nephloc before us worthy to join your ranks?” Her voice was somehow louder than all the Perazim together.

“Show him!” came the unanimous response.

It lowered its head further and began to shake slightly.

“Nephloc, stand and disrobe.”

It did as commanded. A bony hand reached across its shoulder and tore the robe from its naked body.

“Turn around.”

As it did, the Perazim could see that this Nephloc still had far more flesh on its bones than any of the previous candidates. No Perazim voiced his surprise but the thought was rampant. What was so special about this creature to merit the honor of the Ascension? It was obvious to the Perazim witnesses that this one would fail. All other initiates had had far more experience and time to rid themselves of corruptible flesh.

The creature itself did not know why it was chosen. Nor did it know what to expect or that if it would be able to overcome. But it had survived thus far; it would not fail; there was its abiding pride that kept it from giving up.

The High Lady began shouting something unintelligible. The Nephloc did not dare to look behind or to appear nearly as frightened as it really was in front of the mighty Perazim.

As she continued to speak, her voice did not grow louder, but it did become stronger. Each word pounded into its back like a mall hammer. Even with the words tearing into it, some unnatural force held its feet fastened to the cold stone below. All the while, its torso was buffeted about with increasing ferocity.

Then, the force that held its feet to the stone released him. The Nephloc felt her words slam into it like a mighty gust of wind. It struggled in vain to gain footing and braced itself for any potential impact. It relaxed itself when it realized its own movements were futile. The wind was directing it with purpose. The Nephloc was being lifted and then pulled backward toward her. It showed no outward sign of struggle even as its mind raced with the fear that it had been able to thus far keep away.

It closed its eyes and lost all sense of balance. Which way was up? Which way was down? It did not know. Nor did it particularly care. The creature was entirely at her mercy—there was nothing to do and therefore even thinking would be a waste of time.

The bones of its shoulder blades touched first, quickly followed by the heels. The touch was a cold sensation that shot directly from bone to its brain. Its hipbone was next, followed by the lower back spine and finally its legs and head.

Although it still had its eyes closed and had no sense of direction, it knew it was flat on the altar and awaiting the final woe.

The creature felt a touch to its cheek from behind. She was caressing its longest stretch of extant skin on its body. It was gray and translucent, but it was skin. Then, it felt its ear being tickled. The High Lady was softly blowing into it. The feeling was a strange mixture of ecstasy and revulsion. The blowing soon carried a whisper with it.

“Do you want it? Do you want me?”

Its mind calculated the risks for all potential answers.

“High Lady,” it said, answering. It feared to be more specific.

“Sit up.”

Before it could move itself to obey, it felt a force lifting its shoulders up until it found itself sitting up.

It could not see the High Lady behind, but the dark guards in front were beating their chests in a constant rhythm and had fallen to one knee. It could hear a chant rising from the audience.
Kull! Kull!
It was in whispers. In time, the whispers became voiced. The voices became shouts. It soon feared the chamber would collapse from the sound of their voices and the beating of their chests. But there was no fear in the eyes of the Perazim in front of it.
Kull! Kull!

Then it looked down. It saw—but did not feel—her hand appearing through its chest. She was behind the Nephloc and yet her clinched fist was at least six inches through its body and in front of it.

It had known what was happening, but there was not any pain or really any other sensation. It had simply understood that there had been a movement of her hand, movement through its body.

Looking down, it watched the fist turn up. She was holding something large in her hand; the object was moving. It was curious to him how it could look at its own heart and not feel anything. No pain, no morbidity, or any other sensation; nothing other than curiosity and an acceptance of pure fact.

She withdrew her hand back the way it had come, through his body.

A balance scale appeared before the Nephloc’s eyes. The Perazim shouted one last
Kull!
and then at once fell quiet. The beating of their chests ceased. It could hear the High Lady casually walk around. It watched as she placed the still-beating heart on one of the weighing pans. On the other pan, she placed a feather.

He noticed that from the moment she presented the feather, all the Perazim began shielding their eyes and bowing their heads low.

In the next moment, the room was filled with light. Or perhaps the light was just around him, but he could see nothing but white light.

It was a curious thing also. Instead of the expected pain, there was nothing. Not even a slight sensation. With interest, it watched the skin of its arms burn, bubble, sizzle, and then melt away. Exposed and blackened bone became white is as if bleached. This was happening all over its body, it knew this was happening, even if it could not feel anything.

Then he began to laugh; he was no longer Nephloc. He was Perazim! New Morphic flesh crawled over the exposed bleached bone.

He watched the High Lady lift her arms. She spoke to the room while his laughter continued. “Perazim, welcome your brother—Scalias, the Avenger, his name will be!”